


Drusus

by pr_squared



Category: Gor Chronicles - John Norman
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, F/M, Femdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:21:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22436314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr_squared/pseuds/pr_squared
Summary: Drusus a Warrior of Ar, visits Cos
Comments: 14
Kudos: 10





	1. Arrivals

**Author's Note:**

> Looking through my archive, I came across this old tale

Once my name had been Drusus and I was a proud warrior of Ar the Great. Arrogantly, I trod down the weathered gangplank and stepped onto the bustling wharf of the storied city of Cos – the capital of the island nation of the same name. A citizen of Ar, fabled for her soaring towers, I was not overly impressed with the stunted local architecture. Instead, I searched the bustling scene for evidence of the fabled Free Women of Cos with the enthusiasm of a young man too long deprived of female companionship. Everyone knew the lusty tales and my vivid fantasies had long enlivened my dreams. Indulged beyond reason by their fathers, brothers, and free companions, the unbridled liberty of the Free Women of Cos was the pride of their men folk and a scandal for the rest of Gor. Their brazen licentiousness was said to surpass even that of the slatternly slave girls or kajira.

I turned back for a moment to see the Captain negotiating with a Free Woman, obviously of the merchant guild, and dressed most modestly in her white and gold robes of concealment. Master over winds and waves, the stammering Captain was obviously at sea, though his ship rested, tied up safely to the dock. Behind the merchant knelt her kajirus or male slave. His thick black hair reached down to his bare buttocks in a long braid, neatly tied by a red ribbon. His lips and nipples were painted a brilliant red. His gold collar, earrings, and nipple rings flaunted the substantial wealth and good taste of his mistress. The slave’s naked body and loins were smoothly shaven. His heavy cock was blatantly exposed. His foreskin had been removed; its naked head painted red to match his lips and nipples and pierced with a gold ring. That ring was linked to a second ring that pierced his navel and lifted his cock to expose his fat, shaven ball sac beneath. His head was bent and he stared down passively with no inclination to explore his surroundings. Curiosity was unbecoming of a kajirus, I’ve been told. I snorted in disgust and would not call him a man despite the full public display of his undeniably male parts. His near presence was most likely the source of the Captain’s distress. 

I turned again to the city at my feet. Captain Scorpio had warned me to take care in the strange city, but I was supremely confident in my masculine wits and prowess. I saw two girl guards in light armor and bearing swords and halberds. They stood proud, parodies of true warriors, though either would look better on her knees, naked and collared.

One brazen slut stared right back at me and whispered something to her comrade that made her smile in turn. 

On the bustling wharf amidst the swirling crowd of people and slaves, I caught a brief glimpse of a fabled leather-clad female tarn rider of Cos. The tarn riders flew their mighty birds to every city on Gor except Ar. Many scandalous tales are told of their outrageous adventures. The blond-haired, leather-clad woman disappeared into a tavern. Eager for adventure, I set out quickly after her.

Two hundred years before, a Aule Palatina Juliana, the sister of the Ubar, Maximilian, prevailed upon her brother and established a place for escaped slave girls with funds from her own purse. She won them an inviolable right of sanctuary within its confines. Any slave woman or kajira in the common tongue of Gor who passed through its gates won her freedom. Free men were not allowed inside and rumors flourished all over Gor of the unnatural goings on inside. At first, Panther girls from the Northern Forests were hired to defend the Refuge, as it came to be called. However, the fugitives were quickly taught the crossbow and the halberd and required to share in their own defense. The refugees took advantage of their new-found freedom and worked in textiles and other crafts to support the enterprise, which thrived over the years.

The free women of Cos and elsewhere made generous donations and more land was purchased. Women of the Architects’ Guild saw to the planning. Women of the Builders’ guild, assisted by their gangs of male slaves or kajiri saw to its construction.

Gaia Palatina Juliana of Cos, the Ubara of the same name, first brought tarn – the giant birds of Gor - to the Refuge. She was a tarn rider herself. An adult woman’s smaller size, greater dexterity and natural affinity for the great birds quickly made women the best tarn riders on Gor. A lesser burden let the birds fly faster, higher, and farther and carry a greater cargo. Clad in white, red or black leathers, the female tarn riders of Cos soon won welcome over the entire planet and charters to establish secure hostels in every city but Ar, my home city.

I followed the naked faced tarn rider into the tavern like a hound on a scent. Inside, I saw sailors from every port on Gor, men of all tongues and skin colors. Large and blond haired, I stood out among the smaller darker people of Cos. Much like any tavern in Ar, I saw naked kajirae pushing their way through the throng. They balanced heavily laden trays precariously, ignoring the taunts of the men and fending off groping hands when possible. When unavoidable, they tolerated the intimate contact with good humor and tried to earn a copper or two for their trouble. What else might a kajira do? I had been at sea for two weeks and every slave girl was utterly beautiful. My loins stirred at the sight of their red lips, sleek thighs and full breasts and from the sweet, enticing aroma of their cheap perfumes that called to mind delightful times in taverns at other times in other places.

` To my utter surprise, I saw a number of free women also. Most wore the traditional Gorean veils and robes of concealment. They talked among themselves and laughed out loud. I had heard of the utter brazenness of the women of Cos. Naked male slaves attended their owners. In Ar, an honored free woman was found in a public tavern only in her most terrifying nightmares or in her most secret dreams, I chuckled. I searched the crowd further and found that my blonde tarn-rider had met with several other leather-clad women, similarly dressed or undressed, their faces as naked as any slave. 

The tarn-riders met openly in public, in full sight of men, not of their immediate families, with no hint of shame. They drank, talked, and laughed aloud. Physically, they were uniformly slim and petite. However, their presence was anything but quiet and retiring. They seemed to be counting something loudly – over and over again – with indifferent success. Their heads moved with animation as they talked. I thought that their slender, graceful necks begged for a man’s collar. They fired my lust, too long denied at sea. I no longer saw the naked slave girls who served the drinks, even though their voluptuous bodies might be possessed for a time for the price of a cup of paga.

One of the tarn riders, a small girl with short dark hair and large brown eyes threw up her hands in disgust. She looked up and caught me gawking. She stared boldly back and smiled. I saw her naked face unveiled. I could not hide my shock. I blushed and looked away embarrassed. I knew that she had caught me staring. She was still smiling when she put down her tankard and strolled toward me through the bustling common room at a leisurely pace.

Never in Ar the Great would a Free Woman approach a man so shamelessly. Seeing a man who interested her, a decent woman might ask her father to contact the man’s father and arrange a chaperoned first meeting. This woman was no subtler than a moaning kajira, crawling naked to her master on her belly.

Confident of my masculine charms and my male prerogatives, I had traveled to Cos expressly to enjoy these wanton women and teach them what a real man might offer. In my dreams – both sleeping and awaking - I saw myself leading off a coffle of collared naked slave girls - as deeply enslaved by their desperate cravings for my attention, let alone my slightest touch, as by my irons. When this tarn-rider approached, my pleasant daydreams vanished. I suddenly just wanted to flee, more urgently than I ever had wanted to flee any battlefield in my life. In the end, the same stubborn courage as served me on the battlefield, kept me in good stead and I held my ground. My dreams might yet somehow become reality.

“Tal, man of Ar!” My city of origin was apparent from my dress.

“Tal, tarnrider.” To ride the great birds was a high honor and to acknowledge a rider showed high regard. I was acutely aware of the leather tightly wrapping her long shapely legs and the pressure of her round breasts against her leather vest and silk blouse. Although she was covered head to toe, her body was displayed as if blatantly as if she had been naked. Her delicate perfume was different than that worn by the naked slave girls for whom perfume was their only covering - more subtle and even more arousing.

Boldly, she appraised me as blatantly as I had appraised her. “I am called Alycia. The gold of your hair rivals the sun and puts my poor friend Flavia to shame. Are you as golden elsewhere?” She stared at my groin with no hint of delicacy. “Do you wish to share a paga? I can assure we’ll be served the tavern’s best and not the thalarion piss they bring those they guess likely to know no better.”

Her forthrightness and coarse speech inflamed my arousal yet further. Her graceful, slender neck begged desperately for the kiss of iron. Her graceful small hands captivated me. My seething brain was overwhelmed with lust and longing. My tongue grew thick and sluggish in my mouth and I could not mobilize my wits to form even a single word.

Alycia grinned at my obvious confusion. She noted that this tongue-tied youth was obviously not yet a man of the world, but my obvious naiveté made me all the more endearing. From what she could see, my body was unlikely to be a disappointment. She signaled for two paga and the drinks arrived even before I calmed myself and spoke. The slave girl though desirable by any standard and readily available, knew herself hopelessly outmatched by the tarn rider and did not linger. Alycia tossed a small coin onto her tray.

“Drusus – my name is Drusus, a Warrior of Ar.” I sighed in relief. I had finally uttered something intelligible – finally. “And I have been at sea for more than a month.”

Alycia drank her paga and at first, shared nothing beyond polite chatter. She talked, listened, and studied me – in truth - a youth no younger than herself in years – very carefully. “A month at sea is a long time for a young man,” she noted with a smile. “Those naked, sweating oarsmen likely started to look attractive to you. Naked and sweaty, some might find even you attractive.”

I shook my head, no, then drank my paga and bought second round. I found that the drink made it easier to speak. The kajira brought the drinks promptly. I stroked her bare breast and squealed when I pinched her nipple. I tossed her a coin and watched for Alycia’s reaction. She looked quickly away and I relished my small triumph. “This is a very strange land,” I confessed, still trying to cope with so much that was new. 

“I suspect that that I would find your City of Ar very strange also,” Alycia suggested with some gentleness. 

“Have you ever been to Ar the Great,” I said, drinking deeply and suddenly homesick. “Have you seen her soaring towers? You have no such towers here.”

“We have our own wonders here, warrior. Cos is known rather for her gardens. The isles have earthquakes, which make height in a building perilous. I have only heard of Ar’s wonders,” she answered, somewhat wistfully. “You know, Ar does not allow for my sisters and me.”

“Do you blame us? You upset the natural order of things. Males, larger, stronger, and fiercer, naturally dominate smaller, weaker, meeker females. You women of Cos simply do not know your proper place! Or else you know it, but in your female stubbornness and illogic simply refuse to accept it.”

I watched Alycia fume and guessed that her opinion might differ from mine with regard to female ferocity. Visibly, she struggled to control her temper and I savored her thinly disguised discomfort.

“By your typical male logic – and there’s a contradiction of terms,” she said sharply, “the thalarion – the great lizard of the swamp - should dominate his keeper and the bosk, the great bison, rule the plain.” With tremendous effort, she restrained herself and controlled her passions. She took a deep breath. She smiled weakly and let me lead myself down a path of my own choosing. “Perhaps,” she took a deep breath. “Your male logic seems compelling to a man,” she admitted after an ehn’s thought, once she had succeeded in suppressing her outrage.

I was so enthralled by my own arguments that I failed to notice her amused smile. Rather, I saw the expected female submission in her acceptance of my undeniable arguments.

I beamed at her apparent surrender, totally oblivious to the irony. “Back in Ar, many say that many women of Cos would be grateful to meet a real man, like this humble warrior of Ar. More than a few, I guess, would gladly wear his collar.”

Alycia paused for a moment and searched my face for any hint of duplicity. Seeing none, she signaled for another paga. “Aye, some indeed just beg to be collared,” she agreed then continued, “Drusus, the warrior. My friends and I have a scheme that might interest a brave man like you.” She looked quickly over to her friends still standing at the bar. “We need the participation - the help - of several strong, handsome warriors like yourself. Have you the courage? The prize is very great.” 

The slave girl brought the drinks once more. Alycia paid her and did me one better. She kissed her fully on the mouth and ran her tongue over the naked slave girl’s soft lips.

I was taken aback. “You don’t know where a slave girl’s mouth has been!”

Alycia smiled lasciviously. “I know exactly where her mouth has been. I can taste it.” She placed her small, warm hand on my brawny thigh. 

I thought that I would ejaculate into my breechcloth. Sweating profusely, I drained my second paga and began my third. Lust lit up my face. I was a young man, eager for adventure. The lingering touch of Alycia’s hand made it difficult to think. I knew that my arousal was apparent in the tenting of my loincloth.

“They say that the women of Cos make the most delicious slaves, having once known freedom, do they not?” Alycia whispered. That was exactly what I had heard in Ar. Then Alycia shared her daring plan.

The scheme was brash and for that alone might succeed. The best schemes were the simplest. In the end, I wished that I had thought of it myself.

Quite simply, Alycia wanted revenge. This cow Lady Gnaea Claudia Atella had stolen her betrothed. Her poor fiancé was hopelessly befuddled, by the she-bosk’s wealth and large udder-like breasts. Alycia explained sadly. His family eagerly backed the cow Claudia Atella and her wealth. How could a poor tarnrider compete with a noblewoman with houses, ships, and estates?

The plot was cunning. Alycia and her two friends, Alba, and Casca, the blonde whom I had first seen on the wharf, would march a coffle of warriors, disguised as slaves intended for Claudia Atella’s birthday party right into the heart of the Women’s Refuge. The warriors would use their hidden keys to undo their chains, seize weapons, and collar the likely half-willing women, who might feign resistance, but in truth longed only to serve a strong male master and conform to the natural order of things. Once outside the gate of the Refuge, the women might legally be claimed as collared slaves. She, Alycia, would enslave the nasty she-urt (rat). She would see that the slut were well trained and give her to her own fiancé as a betrothal present. No up-standing man of honor would marry a kajira. It sounded all so simple. Not one man in the Refuge bore weapons to stop us.

Suddenly fierce, I looked up from my drink, a bit unsteady for the paga of Cos was strong and rich. “What’s to stop me from collaring you here and now.”

“This and my friends.” Alycia pointed to the short sword in her scabbard hanging from her belt. She also carried a small crossbow holstered on her boot. “Anyway, tarn riders are immune by law.” 

However, her confident smile had disappeared. I savored her discomfort and smiled.


	2. A Birthday Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drusus attends a birthday party in the Women's Refuge

Alycia, Alba, and Casca met us at the predetermined place midmorning. Eagerly, I stripped myself down to my loincloth and stood with twenty-one other attractive young men – all foreigners and all eager for adventure. All the great city-states of Gor were represented. Marcus of Verbenna introduced himself as did Sulla of Dianthium and Rufus of Celosia.

Alycia explained to us once more that a woman of the Refuge had stolen her fiancé and we listened impatiently. She and her friends sought their just revenge. She told us of her ironic plan to enslave this cow Gnaea Claudia Atella herself, enslave her, and then give the newly made kajira as a betrothal present to Claudia Atella’s befuddled fiancé to show that Alycia bore the dear man no ill will. Perhaps then, her beloved would take his Alycia back. Alycia sighed aloud. 

We all shook our heads and grinned. Several of our number chuckled. Every man knew that female spite knew no bounds and the female thirst for vengeance was unquenchable.

She would lead us into the Tefuge, past the girl guards and at her signal, we were to free ourselves and seize the women.

They cuffed my hands behind my back and gave me the key to hold in my fist. Something seemed odd, but the women insisted that the chains must be real and secure to get by the girl guards’ certain careful inspection. Wrists cuffed behind my back, I grasped the crucial key tightly in my fist. I drew comfort from the others’ whispered encouragements and eager confidence.

We crossed the narrow bridge in line and approached the Refuge. Only two girl guards manned the gate, if that word might be used for females awkwardly bearing men’s weapons, halberds. Alycia explained that we were party favors for Lady Gnaea Claudia Atella’s birthday party. As Alba had warned, each males’s chains were thoroughly checked. No one found our concealed keys. I felt that our success was absolutely assured when we were ushered through the gate with no alarm.

While the Refuge was once a tiny, unadorned plot of land, it had been enlarged over the decades to occupy an entire small island of more than one square mile. Its jewel-like qualities – its elaborate gardens and stunning architecture - were visible only from inside its walls. Even I, a warrior of fabled Ar was impressed. The palaces of the wealthy crowded cheek by jowl with the residences of the middle class. The tenements of the poor were cleaner and more orderly than in any city that I had ever seen. The tarns’ roosts projected over the sea off of the south wall. When we first passed the gate, Alycia pointed out her rival’s palace. Its ornate gate was open and unguarded. A well-tended garden lay inside.

“This way. Quickly!” Alycia hissed. She led us through the open gate into a large courtyard where two score young women in festive dress enjoyed some sort of celebration. None was properly veiled. Two women on a grassy area over to one side laughed and ran about, one taller with dark hair and one shorter with ginger hair. They lifted their long skirts to keep from dragging them on the ground. Laughing and squealing, they played some strange sort of game where they tapped a feathered object back and forth over a net with wooden paddles.

One woman looked up and saw us. She pointed and shrieked, “Invaders!”

Alycia shouted, “Now! Men, warriors! Free yourselves. The girls are pining for your collars. Don’t make them wait!”

I grinned fiercely and smoothly worked the key between my thumb and first finger. Carefully, I slipped it into the lock, jiggled it once to assure a good fit and turned it. The key turned but nothing happened. I turned it again and still nothing. My wrists were still securely bound behind my back. I looked up and saw that the others were having no better success. I looked quickly to the gate and saw Alba and Casca draw it closed and place the cross-beam, I then looked quickly to Alycia who surveyed the confusing scene with no hint of alarm. Rather, her face betrayed her obvious satisfaction.

She looked right back at me for an ehn and then waved. She looked then to one tall, dark haired women dressed in white and gold. “Lady Gnaea Claudia Atella,” she called to the young woman who was hosting the festivities. “Gnaea, happy birthday! Happy 21st birthday. Iulla, Pulla, and I promised you twenty-one prime boys and we have delivered twenty-two with one for good luck, precisely on your 21st birthday.” She bowed graciously. I noticed then that the three each carried a coiled whip as well as a sword on her belt.

“Lady Appia Palatina Alycia, you really shouldn’t have! You might just have purchased boys at the market. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

Palatina Alycia grinned. “Isn’t this more amusing. Isn’t this a tale to tell our daughters!”

“I really didn’t think that you’d come through,” Claudia Atella confessed. I don’t have enough collars to go around.” 

“We need precisely twenty-two,” said Palatina Alycia. “Just like I promised, plus one.” 

We were herded into a small room. The next minutes were a torment for Marcus, Sulla, the others, and me. One by one, we were brought to the front of the throng of woman and stripped of our loin clothes. The impatient women were as loud and raucous as any children opening presents. As each male was stripped naked, the women were quick to offer their diverse opinions of this body part or that.

Men have long discussed the aesthetics of the female form. Over-burdened library shelves groan with the weight of their writings. Paintings cover acres of canvasses. Women too have their strongly held opinions about the male form, if less loudly expressed. Such opinions were voiced clearly that night.

Soon we all stood naked. Octavia Iera, who had an interest in such things, conducted the proceedings. She was the taller woman who had played that game with paddles and a feathered object. Livia Alba employed a capture pole to bring Marcus to the front. Octavia Iera drew a name from a bowl. "Gnaea Claudia Atella," she announced. "Our birthday girl." 

"His name is Marcus of Verbenna," offered Palatina Alycia. 

"Well, Marcus. You have a choice. You may kneel and beg that Lady Gnaea Claudia Atella accept you as her slave or you may impale yourself on that spear." A sturdy spear was lodged in the brick wall. Its well-hone blade glistened. 

Poor Marcus studied the blade for a long moment, then fell to his knee. "I would be your slave, Lady." Marcus knelt at Claudia Atella's side and she collared him with two napkins tied together.

Octavia Iera drew a second name from the bowl. "Marcia Camilla Mamerca," she announced. She was the petite ginger-haired girl. Livia Alba brought another male to the front. 

"Sulla of Dianthium," Palatina Alycia reported. 

"Sulla, your choice. The Lady or the spear." You have a choice. You may kneel and beg that Lady Marcia Camilla Mamerca accept you as her slave or you may impale yourself on that spear." 

Sulla looked at Camilla Mamerca and looked at the spear. The young woman looked hopeful, rather than intimidating. 

All was still. I overheard one women whisper to another. "I would chose the spear. Mamerca has no proper household. She'll be renting out her slave by the hour." The Camilla had substantial social standing but little wealth. Her townhouse had no proper kennel.

"If its all the same to you Ladies, I would die free." Sulla announced and walked purposely toward the bitter blade. He did not falter. The women screamed; we men gasped. The blade pieced his yielding flesh just below the ribs. He lay naked and unmoving on the stone floor in a pool of blood. The razor sharp blade glistened wetly. Camilla Mearmerca looked disappointed. Octavia Iera shook her head and continued. 

Finally, my turn came and I was ushered to the front. I squinted in the bright light but gradually the scene came into focus. “This one’s next," Palatina Alycia announced. "He calls himself Drusus, a Warrior of Ar of the tall towers."

Octavia Iera reached into the bowl and retrieved a name - her own. She sounded almost embarrassed. She wondered honestly if I’d be worth it. My body was sound but a raw male still needed so much work. However, Octavia Iera had a special interest in breaking raw boys. Some, like her mother Gaia Octavia Laevina, thought her interest excessive for one of her station. A quirt ripped sharply across my back. “Kneel for your collar, sweetie!” Octavia Iera commanded. 

I looked at the tall, dark-hair woman in a new way. Immediately, I sensed the authority in her voice and almost knelt. My body had responded by instinct and only my wits had saved me from kneeling at her command and only at the last moment. Having triumphed once over near humiliation, however narrowly, I found my nerve quickly returning. “I am a warrior and not a slave, weasel turd,” I barked. I was defiant, even though I was naked and my wrists were secured behind my back. I looked quickly to the left and right to locate the traitorous bitch Palatina Alycia and her scheming friends.

“That remains to be seen,” Octavia Iera replied quietly and calmly, refusing to be baited. If you are a warrior, you may impale yourself on that spear like your brave comrade. He died a free man. Otherwise, kneel here at my feet and accept my collar or at least what will pass for a collar today.” She held up two cloth napkins tied together.

I stood a head taller than the tall young woman. I glared down at her and flashed my raging anger. Octavia Iera did not back down. The meek, red-haired Camilla Mamerca looked at her friend with new respect. She herself had so little experience with raw boys.

Octavia Iera did not argue, but simply waited for me to comply with her order. She had dealt with male posturing before and did not quail. In fact, she was quickly getting bored.

“Slay me then,” I demanded. “Í choose death over slavery!”

I heard more laughter.

“If you would be slain, just run up on that spear.” Octavia Iera pointed. She looked at me like someone looks at a simple child, who just doesn’t understand. The other women suddenly became very quiet.

I grasped her meaning. I looked quickly at the spear. “Slay me, I demand it!” I repeated myself.

“You are not in much of a position to make demands,” she pointed out quite matter of fact. “You’ll find, man of Ar, that you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.” Several of the women snickered.

“Slay me, I beg you!”

“There, begging is more appropriate for one of your station and I’d really like to accommodate you,” she mocked to her friends’ amusement. “But as you can see, I am dressed for a party today and not for the abattoir. What is more, I wear the white and gold of the Merchant caste. I am not of the Butchers' caste.” She smiled and the other young noblewomen tittered at my ludicrous musing that she might be of such a lowly caste. “Perhaps, if you insist, I should find you a butcher. But have you a coin to pay him for his trouble? Perhaps you can provide some sort of personal service and earn his gratitude.”

I snarled and spit at her. Octavia Iera moved slightly to avoid my spittle. She said nothing more. She pointed to the bloody spear, then held up the makeshift collar of knotted napkins.

I snarled and turned away. Determined, I started towards the spear at a run.

As I closed, I saw Sulla’s blood still staining its bitter point and a pool of blood on the paving stones. True to her word, no one reached out to restrain me. Involuntarily, my gait slowed to a trot as I neared the spear and then I slowed to a walk. I looked back to see the women staring at me silently. I approached the spear still, slowly but steadily. I felt the sweat run coldly down my naked skin despite the cool shade of the garden. I stepped over Sulla's bleeding body. I closed my eyes and steeled myself for the pain of the sharp point piercing my belly, only to slip a half-step in a pool of blood. An instant before I expected, I felt the keen point of the spear pricked my skin just below my breastbone and I recoiled. Blood welled from the small cut and dribbled warmly down my bare belly. I jumped back.

“Nice day, isn’t it,” one of the women called out. The day was beautiful. A brilliant sun illuminated the verdant garden. The blossoms of a myriad of flowers spiced the air.

I became very aware of the stench of my own sweat. I did not want to die today and I knew it. I stopped. I hesitated for a long moment and then I turned. I walked back toward Lady Octavia Iera, very slowly with my head hung in shame, past the watching women, who now hooted in derision. My ears buzzed.

Octavia Iera allowed herself a small smile, then prepared to continue the battle of wills. “Warrior of Ar,” she called. “Crawl back to me and beg to be collared.” A raw male was just so much trouble and required so much effort. 

I turned back and looked at the waiting spear once more. Then I dropped to my knees and crawled slowly back to Octavia Iera, past the line of taunting women. The paving stones abraded my hands and knees.

I looked up, kneeling before Octavia Iera, very conscious in the reversal in our heights. I turned and looked at the spear yet one more time. I searched my craven soul for the courage to stand again and impale myself like Sulla. I found only emptiness. “Mistress, I beg to be your slave, your kajirus. Please favor me with your collar.” I blushed head to toe and naked, my body’s reaction was evident to everyone in the scornful crowd. The party-goers applauded.

Octavia Iera deftly tied the makeshift collar around my neck. She looked to her friends, "It is said the men of Ar make the most delicious slaves, having once known freedom." Today, my collar was largely symbolic. Soon, it would be replaced with iron. “I name you…” Octavia paused and grinned broadly at her witty idea. “Let’s see, I name you, Warrior!” Many cheered her clever choice, but I – once Drusus of Ar, now Warrior – cringed.”

Octavia Iera tied the makeshift collar around my neck. Today, it was largely symbolic. Soon, it would be replaced with an iron collar. “I name you…” Octavia Iera paused and grinned broadly at her witty idea. “Let’s see, I name you, Warrior!” Many cheered her clever choice, but I – once Drusus now Warrior – cringed.”

As per the lottery, Claudia Atella took Marcus. She gave the other males to her guests as party favors. I was awarded to the Octavia Iera, the young woman who had prevailed at the strange game called badminton and directed the proceedings. Octavia Atella’s badminton partner, the Camilla Mamerca, got nothing. Her boy had chosen death over slavery. Camilla Mamerca tried to conceal her disappointment with only indifferent success.


	3. Slavery

Lady Gaia Octavia Laevina sat in her favorite chair and her two newest boys– identical twins knelt naked before her and massaged her tired feet. Octavia Laevina and her free companion Lord Gaius Caepionius Valens maintained a large, stately palace in the city. The Lady Octavia Laevina also maintained a smaller home in the Refuge for her daughter and herself. “She brought home a what?”

The attendants in the kennels told and retold the story with laughter. Octavia Laevina knew that raising a daughter was an unending challenge. A girl must grow and explore her sexuality. She needs enough experience so that she will never confuse lust with love and fall for the first boy who discovers her clitoris. Young girls are so romantic, that if you give her a pleasing kajirus, she might even declare herself in love with him just as she dearly loved her first kitten. Everyone knows that a girl needs some variety to balance her innate female sentimentality.

The kennel mistress, Tullia, promptly reported her new charge, even though Octavia Iera herself had said nothing to her mother. The kennel was well staffed and well equipped. Tullia was an excellent kennel chief but breaking a raw boy took substantial time and effort, even in a well-staffed kennel like hers. Octavia Iera’s personal interest in training slaves was far beneath her station and a distraction from learning from manage the family’s far-flung trading enterprise. Better Claudia Atella had given young Gaia a finely crafted wall hanging or a case of delectable wines, Octavia Laevina brooded. She examined the curious bronze key that Tullia had pried from my hand only with such difficulty. I had held onto it like it might have some value, Tullia speculated, and gave it over to her mistress. Octavia Laevina studied the key herself and still could find nothing special about it.

The numerous girl guards seemed competent and diligent. I was fitted with a cunningly wrought steel collar. My ankles were hobbled and my wrists secured to a chain that circled my waist. They dragged me stumbling to my crate in the kennel. 

In feigned good humor, I stumbled after them and let them lead me to the kennel. Still, my cleverness and wit won me no favors. In their eyes, I was nothing but a raw boy and that was almost nothing at all. Despite my cheerful co-operation, I was securely shackled. My fetters were secure beyond my strength or skill with locks.

I was left alone. My crate was small and secure. Over the next hours, I had ample time to survey my surroundings and brood upon my fate. Perhaps my best strategy would be to play along and win some trust and then make my escape and take my vengeance. I would remember each humiliation and choose an exactly fitting revenge. The kennel was drafty and uncomfortable. My elaborate musings made my suffering more tolerable and hours passed.

I had taken a number of female captives in my day and relished my fond memories of my efficient reduction of these proud beauties to abject slavery. I savored the delicious moment when a cherished, highborn girl first understands that her body is the property of another and her flirtations and her favors are no longer hers to grant or to withhold. Something changes irreversibly the moment that she realizes that her very life depends on the tolerance and goodwill of others.

Alone in my crate, I brooded. I closed my eyes and I saw the dark Appia Palatina Alycia, blond Iulla Flavia Alba, and Pulla Livia Casca kneeling at my feet, collared and naked, jealous of my attention to their friends. I leaned back and felt Gnaea Claudia Atella’s soft, warm breasts against the back of my head while Gaia Octavia Iera’s wicked lips and tongue played over my rampant sex. When I opened my eyes, my cock was erect but I was alone in my crate. Something had cracked in my confident veneer. Doubt had infiltrated my defenses.

True, I had chosen slavery over death. A true warrior might have chosen death like Sulla. However, with life comes hope that the Wheel might turn once again and I might recover my freedom. What might these giggly girl guards do to me, a man and a warrior of Ar? What might they ask of me, I wondered, while I prepared my vengeance and my return to freedom? How might they reduce me – a warrior of Ar the Great -to slavery? Might they fuck me? I had little problem with fucking. I could not recall showing any particular selectivity in my choices to date. What if a fat girl wanted to fuck me? What about an old granny with sagging tits or an unwashed girl stinking with sweat or worse? The slave girls had never hesitated to serve me enthusiastically when I came in from the exercise yard. What if a girl wanted me to suck her? What if she were ripe with stench or menstrual blood? What might they demand of me, I wondered? No one of the Warrior Caste knew precisely what the free women might require from their kajiri. The women did not talk to warriors and no one talked to slaves. If the slaves themselves talked, no one listened, for the babbling of a slave is of no consequence. I knew with certainty that I hated both Appia Palatina Alycia and Gaia Octavia Iera, authoresses of my present state. If I were dead, how might I give them their just desserts?

Somehow, the night passed. My reveries were destroyed when I was dragged from my crate the next morning. Chattering among themselves, the girl guards brought me, naked and chained, from my crate and efficiently prepared me for my new life. I was ill-kempt and unwashed. I was stiff from my cramped confinement. 

I saw the Lady Octavia Iera. She had traded her party attire for a more practical tunic and trousers. My wild eyes betrayed my violent hatred, anger suffused my Warrior’s body. Octavia Iera was daughter of her father and mother. She feared little. Frighteningly, she answered my insolence with a calm, indulgent smile and I hated her even more. 

. They secured me to some sort of grooming stand. My collar was clipped to the upright. My legs were secured at shoulder width to stays set in the floor. One wrist was freed; the attendant held it in two hands and tried to lift it to the crosspiece.

I ripped it from her grasp and gloated at my success. My pleasure in my rebellion was short-lived. I could not free myself from the stand. The attendant stepped away and returned with a whip. She struck me and I shouted my defiance. She lashed me again. My body jerked at the touch of her whip but I could not win free. She lashed me again and again. My shouts became incoherent shrieks, then groans, and finally whimpers. In the end, I lifted my wrist to the cross piece myself and the beating stopped. She secured my right wrist and then my left wrist. I hung naked and spread-eagle on the grooming stands.

Octavia Atella studied my naked body in detail and discussed this feature and that with Tullia, the chief of the kennel in quiet tones. She saw the leavings of my whipping. She placed a well-manicured hand on my bare back and discussed this feature and that with Tullia, the chief of the kennel in quiet tones. She took a real interest in breaking raw boys, an unusual hobby in someone of her station.

Attendants bathed, shaved and groomed me. No part of my body was too private or personal for the attendant attention. Hair was removed from my body and loins. My legs and buttocks were held widely spread while the hairs around my bung hole were meticulously plucked.

My ears and nipples were pierced and ringed. Practice varied from kennel to kennel. Here, I was not gagged. Any screaming was simply ignored. I, Drusus, born to the Warriors, did not make a sound through the piercing of my ears and nipples.

“Release me!” I shouted. “I am a Warrior of Ar.”

They ignored my demands. “Isn’t he cute!” Octavia Atella remarked blandly. “Look at his bottom.”

I thought my ordeal was over. I felt her warm hand on my bare ass and shuddered when the attendant poured the chilly oil in the crack between my buttocks. Doubt fled before a greater enemy. I felt true fear for the first time.

“Lady Octavia Iera,” someone said, “you needn’t do this yourself.”

“Lady Gnaea Claudia Atella gave him to me and he’s mine. I’ll do the honors, if you please,” Lady Octavia Iera answered with authority. “The others may practice their skills later.” 

I had uttered no sound and held myself still when my ears and nipples were pierced. However, I howled like some wild creature and jumped madly at the first touch of her finger on my butthole. I pulled wildly at my bonds but I had been restrained securely. I screamed when her finger penetrated my body. She followed it with a second finger. Her nimble fingers found my almond sized gland and massaged it skillfully. Despite my pain and terror, my body responded to her ministrations. I willed myself not to respond but my cock engorged and my balls rose in their sac. Pleasure erupted from my groin in massive tidal waves. I ejaculated messily, although no one had touched my sex.

Octavia Iera withdrew her hand, laughing. “He has the makings of a real slut.” The others shared her amusement.

A second girl took her turn with similar success although the volume of my ejaculate was less. “He dances well on the end of my finger,” she noted.

A third girl took her turn. I came with a guttural moan, but dryly, producing nothing. My balls contracted painfully. I was sweating and exhausted. I fought to catch my breath. My cock receded to its usual size. Once again, I thought that my torment was done, but one again I was wrong. 

Next, I was circumcised in order to facilitate good hygiene in the kennel. Marcella, the veterinarian’s apprentice worked quickly and in just a moment, it was done. Now shameless in my fear, I pulled wildly against my strong bonds and screamed. A young apprentice, Marcella, dipped my bleeding organ into a soothing herbal concoction to promote rapid healing as Antonia had instructed her. 

A collar might be donned and doffed. Piercings might heal to subtle scars. Circumcision was irreversible. With this step, all would know that I was a slave and I could never really be free from discovery, even should I physically escape. My frenzy was simply ignored with good humor. What might one expect of a kajirus? The bleeding stopped and pain lessened, promptly, and my handlers prepared for the next step.

Marcella, pierced and ringed my cock. She knew that it was a special moment when she pierced my pee-hole and followed the needle with a golden ring before pressing me back into the medicinal potion. This had to be done immediately or else delayed until the swelling from the circumcision had completely receded. 

Weak and trembling, I was freed from the stand and shacked again. My ankles were hobbled. My wrists were secured to a chain that circled my waist. The Lady Octavia Iera had departed much earlier to attend to more pressing business. The attendants returned me to my pen. 

Once more I lay in my pen and considered my present options. I was now collared and circumcised. My body bore the five rings of slavery. My sex was tender and swollen. However, I had not yet been branded. Tullia preferred to save branding for the end of training.

Days passed. A young man in my prime, my body healed from its ordeal. My mind healed more slowly. To add to my misery, a half-naked kennel girl secured me to the grooming stand and bathed me daily. I was kept cleanly depilated and hairless from the neck down. In many kennels, the slaves are charged with assuring each other’s hygiene, but Tullia insisted that a girl wash each slave daily in order to accustom him to a mistress’ touch. It was the lowest status chore in the kennel. 

Every day, I was penetrated annually after my ablutions. My sex was still sore and any touch brought pain. However, despite my fierce resistance, the kennel girl brought me daily to orgasm by her skillful manipulation of my hidden gland. With my orgasms came a curious mixture of pleasure and pain. As much as my mind hated my body’s violation, my body’s pain gradually decreased and my body’s pleasure similarly increased. At first, the touch of the oil on my bottom aroused my healing sex, then it’s fragrance, and then even my anticipation. My disloyal body opened eagerly for its invasion, no matter how strongly I willed myself to resist. 

One of the girls seemed to take more than average interest in me. She tried to be gentle with my sore nipples and cock. She was attractive in any event and even more so because of her kindness. Her nubile body was mostly visible through her always-wet tunic and I dreamed of fucking her. The others named her Juliana and teased her for her obvious interest in a mere raw boy. I heard someone call her the “Ubara.”


	4. The Baths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a bit hasty in posting chapters 4-6. I'm revising them before I go further.   
> Here is chapter 4.  
> I think that its an improvement

Like all the other untrained and half trained males, I was always naked. I had to work to earn my food and even my training. During the days, I might be found helping with any unpleasant task in the palace or its stables. In the late hours of the night and the early hours before dawn, I might be found on my hands and knees, my ankles hobbled and my wrists shackled, washing the tile floors of the palace. The exact tasks were chosen with an eye to my physical shortcomings and the muscle groups required.

Weeks passed and I healed. I became accustomed to life in the kennel – the bland monotonous food always in strictly limited quantities to prevent unfashionable obesity and the long hours of boredom confined in my crate. I spent hours at hard labor under the watchful eyes and causally wielded whips of the attendants. I spent yet longer hours alone in my crate and came to treasure any human contact. I survived my groomings and my rapes.

Tullia was expert in training males. Contrary to popular belief and perhaps some fond hopes, males were rarely beaten. Though the whip was wielded to provide a quick correction, few mistresses wished to devote the substantial energy required to thrash a male into submission. Few women find the bruises and lacerations attractive. When beatings are required, males might better be set to beating one another. 

More commonly, a difficult male might be restrained in any number of uncomfortable positions for varying lengths of time and simply ignored. Food may be withheld. Many males are heavier and bulkier than is fashionable anyway. Two days of hunger erodes the most stubborn temperament. Tullia thought of herself as a midwife. Her challenge was to help the slave – already living deep within a male - emerge. Delivery takes time – like pregnancy - and cannot be rushed.

While a male might think that a female’s value declines with sexual experience, women are not as wrong-headed about a male’s value. Every morning I knelt and ate an orange half from my trainer’s hand with my mouth and tongue alone. When I became adept with oranges, I moved on to pomegranates. When I was done, my face was stained with the sticky red juice. All knew what I had been about. My eagerness won me other opportunities to practice my skills further and earn tasty treats from the girl guards.

Antonia taught me massage and the proper care of my mistress’ feet. Aemillia taught me to wash and tend my mistress hair. I learned quickly. I found no tolerance for lack of attention or effort. Fortunately, I had few distractions. 

When I was left alone in my crate, I was secured so that I might not pleasure myself. When the swelling went down, Marcella banded me, surrounding my now limp cock with a one centimeter wide metal band just below my glans to prevent unsupervised orgasms. Utter fatigue brought on sleep quickly despite the constant discomfort. The band was removed for my grooming and then replaced.

One morning when I had largely healed, Juliana came to my pen. “Warrior, Warrior!” she whispered hoarsely, using my slave name. “Warrior” was the name written on the plaque on my crate. No one knew that I had had any other or if they knew, no one cared. “Lady Gaia Octavia Iera commands your presence tonight.”

I was bathed and groomed but I was not brought to orgasm. My wrists and ankles were shackled. A cloth sack was pulled over my head. The girl guards led me away. A warm hand softly cupped my balls and a hushed voice urged me to be good. So long had I been naked, I was hardly conscious of my state. My mind, battered and broken, was empty. No fantasy of revenge or escape colored the empty void.

I smelled the moist warmth of the tepidarium before the girl guards removed my sack. They freed me of my shackles and led me into the bathing chamber. I heard feminine laughter. I saw tall dark-haired Octavia Atella and petite red-haired Camilla Mamerca immersed to their waists in the warm scented water. Except for their simple jewelry, they were as naked as I. Camilla Mamerca had the green eyes pale complexion one finds with her ginger hair. Octavia Atella had dark brown eyes and olive skin. Their bare breasts seemed to float on the water.

A small voice whispered that I should hate them. I lusted for them more and prayed that one might notice me. 

“There he is!” exclaimed Octavia Atella, looking up at me. “Lucretius, attend to Marcia, please and Warrior attend to me.” She smiled broadly. Octavia Atella always said ‘please,’ though none might doubt who commanded and who obeyed. 

Only then I saw Lucretius, collared and as naked as me. He almost matched my height, but his slim, lithe form likely weighed a third less. Several girl guards watched.

The two women pushed through the water to the pools’ edge. “Please help with our hair.” I copied Lucretius and sat at the poolside with my legs dangling in the warm scented water. Octavia Iera slipped between my thighs and gently stroked my flaccid cock. She laughed and turned. She hooked her arms over my thighs and rested her head on my groin. Camilla Mamerca was doing the same with Lucretius.

I cupped water in my hand and wetted her hair. I messaged in the fragrant shampoo into her thick, dark hair. She sighed at my touch. I stroked her cheeks and ran my fingers under her chin. Carefully, I washed the soap from her hair. She stretched luxuriously against me, her naked body against mine. 

She just raised her arms. “Lift, please.”

I lifted her from the pool and knelt to kiss her feet. 

“You tickle,” she complained half in jest and laid prone on a warm towel stretched over a stone bench, her head cradled in her arms. I began her massage with her neck and shoulders with the perfumed oil. My strong hands kneaded her back and flanks. Her skin was soft and silky. The curve of her firm ass made me sigh. Her long legs stretched out before me. Her trim thighs trembled at my touch and she sighed. My cock strained against its band.

Then she turned and lay supine. She put her hands behind her head and placed her entire body on display. I saw her pert breasts, her slight roundness of her belly, and the curve of her hip. I saw the bush that crowned her sex and her long, trim legs. She left me breathless.

I touched her breast with a tremulous hand and waited. The nipple hardened at my touch. Had I gone too far? 

Free women may feign offense at a lowly slave’s desperate lust for their feminine charms. However, most accept it as their rightful tribute. A slave who fails to show proper notice may find it a greater transgression still. Though I was only a slave, I was a man and Octavia Iera savored my reaction. She saw the fierce, naked lust in my eyes. 

My hand cupped her left breast, then her right. I massaged her chest and belly. My hands slid down her thighs as a spread the perfumed oil.

She lifted her arm and played with my cock and balls. She probed for the spot between my ball sac and anus. Her touch was maddening and distracting. 

I continued as I had been trained. My fingers slipped between her folds. I felt her heat and wetness. I touched her pearl and she gasped and raised her hips to press against my hand. 

After a time, she sat on the edge of the bench. I sat between her thighs and her legs draped over my shoulders. Carefully, I pedicured her feet as I saw Lucretius doing for Camilla Mamerca. I trimmed and painted her nails and inhaled the proof of her arousal. I savored my small triumph. 

Juliana and a second female servant help the ladies dress. We four moved to another chamber. Juliana, the other female servant, and the girl guards followed. Lucretius walked about the room lighting candles. The women lounged on a high bed. My eyes were for Octavia Iera and she was beautiful.

I was secured to a wall, facing a high bed, my arms and legs outstretched. I saw the whips in the rack. 

Octavia Iera called to Lucretius and scooted herself to the foot of her bed. She faced me, her newest acquisition while the pleasure slave knelt before her. She hiked up her silk gown and blatantly exposed her hungry sex, crowned by a brush of tightly coiled brown hair. My loins were shaved bare. She looked up at me and answered my hot stare with a complacent smile. She swung her trim legs over the kneeling man’s shoulders. She pressed him against her with one hand while steadying herself with her other. She shifted her bottom and pressed his face into her. She looked up at me, who despite my efforts to control my urges and to look away, watched her every movement with obvious enthrallment. She allowed herself a brief laugh, before surrendering to the sensation arising from her sex as Lucretius served her with his usual skill and enthusiasm.

I knew that Drusus, a warrior of Ar, should hate her. But I was no longer Drusus of Ar and I simply could not take my eyes from her as she surrendered to her pleasure. I began to imagine that I might see a certain hunger in her eyes too. She might want me, not simply to use me and discard me. I might make her love me.

Octavia Iera made no effort to hide her pleasure. 

Ginger-haired Camilla Mamerca complained loudly that she felt left out.

Octavia Iera, always a good hostess, laughed and ordered Lucretius up onto the bed. She dropped her own gown carelessly onto the rich carpets. Camilla Mamerca already aroused, deftly straddled his hips and took his thick sex smoothly into herself. Octavia Iera straddled his face, her back to her friend. facing me. Lucretius licked her folds with his trained and tireless tongue, seemingly oblivious to Camilla Mamerca who rode his hips. Lucretius was too well trained to ejaculate unless granted permission and he knew enough not to ask.

Octavia Iera saw me watching her intently and smiled. Deliberately, she pinched her erect nipples between two fingers, then spread her labia so that I might see how her trusted slave was serving her so well. 

Her mother had given her a pair of thoroughly trained pleasure slaves when she was fifteen as she did for all her daughters. She worried that her daughters might confuse lust for love and bring much suffering in their lives. On Gor, sex was no shameful vice, practiced furtively, but one of life’s basic functions and richest pleasures – more like eating than elimination.

Octavia Iera came so hard, she almost fell, then jumped when Lucretius touched her with his tongue once more. He was so very good at what he did. Her sex was exquisitely sensitive after she came. She shielded her sex with hand and shifted her position slightly so that Lucretius might serve her most intimate opening. Her body was slick with perspiration and her eyes wild with desire.

She saw me watching her still. For the moment, she just didn’t care about anything beyond her next orgasm that was soon to come. She stuck out her tongue at me in mock defiance, for a mistress need not be overly concerned with what thoughts may cross her slave’s mind. Then she leaned back to kiss Camilla Mamerca, who rode Lucretius’s thighs in the ancient dance.

I tried to ignore them and restrain myself but my body betrayed me once again. Lust breached what remained of my will. I viewed the tableaux before me. My sex engorged against my band.

Camilla Mamerca saw me and asked, “I wonder how that one feels?” She climbed off Lucretius and walked naked to me. Her skin gleamed with a faint sheen of perspiration.

“Tal, Warrior!” she smiled. “You look good in your collar.”

I stood helplessly, arms and legs secured, when she pressed her naked body against mine. Her busy fingers deftly freed my cock from its restraining band. Her breasts pressed against my chest as she held her lips a finger’s breadth from mine. I tried to kiss her and she stepped back laughing. 

She turned and leaned her back against me and rubbed her warm, smooth ass against my shaved groin. I groaned aloud. She captured my member with her hand and brought me forward against her dripping, sticky sex, so that my engorged glans protruded forward like a fat stubby prick of her own. “Gaia, he really feels delicious!” she sighed, squeezing me between her toned thighs. “I’d really like to own a male like this. I’d want him broken and trained, of course. I don’t have handlers and trainers as you do. I’m so glad that you’ve cleaned off all his ugly body hair. He so made me want to scratch. You have yet to brand him?” No brand yet marked my thigh.

I had not ejaculated since the day before and I was ready. Her fingers pressed into the under side of my thick, throbbing cock and she sensed my immanent release. From between her thighs, I spurted copious gobs of thick semen into the air. Camilla Mamerca stepped away and the viscous fluid dribbled onto my thigh. Her question hung forgotten. The women laughed. 

Octavia Iera dismissed Lucretius and retired into the inner chamber for the night with her dear friend. I stood there cold and naked all night, while 

I was still standing chained to the walled when Camilla Mamerca padded out of the inner chamber at first light. Her small breasts and the dense thatch of dark red hair between her thighs were visibly wet in the morning’s light. Her hair was a mess, but her face looked rested and serene. Her eyes glowed. She looked at me and wrinkled her nose at the line of dried semen caked on my leg. She lifted my cock gently on the tips of her fingers to expose my plump ball sac. She seemed pleased with what she saw. When my face registered distress, she smiled at her slowness of wit. She looked about, found a vase, threw the flowers on the floor, and held my member over its opening. “This is your chance, sweetie,” she offered kindly. “Octavia Iera is sleeping soundly and I don’t know when the handlers will come and pick you up.”

I could not fully hide my humiliation, but I released my urine into the proffered vase. I didn’t know how much longer I could wait. She found my inner struggle amusing. She soon felt the stream rushing through my cock and whizzing past her fingers. The vase grew heavier and steamed in the chill morning air.

Camilla took a pinch of my blond hairs from my head as a souvenir. “Blond to the roots,” she marveled.


	5. A Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robert Graves, author of I, Claudius and The White Goddess commented that women's acceptance of sex in private doomed the matriarchy.

Macella opened the door of my crate. “Stand!” I was ordered and I stood. I held out my crossed wrists to be bound. I tried to imagine what might lay in store for me. Marcella deftly bound my wrists. Antonia tested the bonds and nodded when she found them secure. I was groomed with their usual thoroughness, then Antonia unfastened the metal band behind the glans of my sex. My fondest hopes soared. I was fully healed from my circumcision and my piercing. Months had passed since I had used a woman in the way that a man uses a woman.

I was ushered into an ornate room with four low heavy tables, one facing each wall.. Briefly, I imagined pressing a naked girl onto its rough surface, spreading her half-resisting thighs, and taking her to her core, one of the girls who tormented me in the kennel or perhaps even the dark-haired Gaia Octavia, the red-haired Marcia Camilla Mamerca, or the blond -hair Pulla Livia Alba. Mad lust would replace the look of fear on her lovely face as she moved against me with eagerness and passion. 

I saw Lucretius and Paetus. With great good humor, four girl guards wrestled one battling large muscular male onto one table. He was called Bosk after the great bison of the plains, He struggled manfully – meaning with much energy but limited effectiveness. A fifth guard joined the affray and simply grabbed him by his balls. The five then maneuvered him onto one table. He lay supine with his strong arms stretched over his head and secured. 

I snorted when I saw the guards lift his brawny legs over his head, bend him sharply at the waist and secure his ankles above his shoulders. Some much for fucking, I thought, and tried to guess what lay ahead.

A strong hand thrust me forward and broke my reverie. I was quickly secured supine on the table beside him. My legs were pulled back over my head and my ass exposed, fully on display. I didn’t resist and waste my strength. Lucretius and Paetus were similarly secured. 

I looked over at Bosk. He thrashed about wildly. His eyes were wide with fear. I whispered something encouraging. He continued his struggles, shouting and cursing. The sturdy table groaned with his exertions. 

Antonia and Marcella returned. Bosk’s shouting obviously caused them some concern. Marcella held his head firmly by his hair and squeezed his nose shut. He opened his mouth to breath and Antonia inserted one end of a large double-sided dildo into his wide-opened mouth and deep into his throat. That silenced him and stopped his thrashing. If he moved his head more than a finger’s breadth, he would be unable to breath. With all his struggles, his monstrous cock rose from his groin, as long and thick as the average man’s forearm. 

I don’t know how long we lay side by side. Tall mirrors hung on the walls facing us. The outside light faded to dusk and then to evening. I heard music, and voices, and the rattle of silverware on dishes. Servants lit lamps. Evening turned to night. 

I heard voices. I heard Gaia Octavia Iera, Appia Palatina Alycia, Gnaea Claudia Atella, Marcia Camilla Mamerca, Iulla Flavia Casca, and Pulla Livia Alba. I saw several women I could not name. 

Palatina Alycia wore a white linen robe that was opened in front when she moved, revealing a flash of her toned belly and the crop of hair that crowned her sex. “Hey, I know you,” she said drunkenly. She placed her warm hand on my ass. Her manicured nails gleamed a deep red. “You always had a cute little bottom. This is Gaia’s Warrior of Ar who chose slavery over death,” she called out to her friends. “See his cute little spear.” She ran her hand lightly over my stiffening cock. “I think he loves me.”

Everyone laughed.

I felt something wet, slippery and cold running between my buttocks. I couldn’t lift my head to see. Involuntarily, my body jerked away from the cold. I felt something poking between my ass cheeks. 

At first, I just screamed. I felt something hard press against my rectum. It was much bigger than a finger and rock hard. I screamed. Palatina Alycia thrust hard with surprising strength and the stiff tool overcame my desperate resistance and invaded my body. I could do nothing but scream and writhe in my chains as she took her pleasure from me. Fucking a kajirus in the ass is an acquired taste and takes a fair bit of practice. It had become all of the rage in the more sophisticated salons.

I screamed again when she reached forward to cup my balls softly in her warm palm. No one paid me any attention, for the babblings of a raw slave are of little concern to anyone. My mind roiled with contradictory signals. Her enticing perfume filled my head. The smooth skin of her thighs pressed against my thighs and buttocks. She jammed her obscene device mercilessly into my body while her soft hand gently cradled my balls. I screamed in pain and when my newly healed body responded visibly to her ministrations, my humiliation rose to a new height. 

Octavia Iera saw my erection. She took my rampant cock in her fist and straddled me, facing her friend. With an unladylike grunt, she swallowed me in her wet heat and moved against me. 

She took her pleasure. I was unable to move with her weight on my thighs. I was totally paralyzed. I felt my cock seated deep in her eager cunt. Octavia Iera’s bush abraded my shaven groin as she moved against me in total control, adjusting her pace and her angle. Palatina Aycia’s device filled my ass to bursting. However, my arousal rapidly grew, despite my helplessness. 

Palatina Alycia noted the changing of my breathing and flushing of my body. She pressed her finger firmly into the base of my cock and delayed the climax that I desperately sought.

“See, he moves nicely,” said the blond-haired Flavia Casca.

Octavia Iera gasping for breath in the throes of her orgasm, nodded in agreement. “He seems fully serviceable.” She dismounted unsteadily. My cock stood erect and wet with her arousal.

Palatina Alycia withdrew her obscene device and brought me quickly to a messy climax. A rope of sperm shot over my belly and chest and landed wetly. The other women, Livia Alba, the blond Flavia Casca, and Claudia Atella taunted me good-naturedly and my despair descended to a new depth. I found that I no longer had the will to scream. I only wanted my tormentors to finish their business and leave me alone.

I turned my head as far as I could. I saw Claudia Atella wearing a harness mounting an obscene phallus. The base of the device rested between her labia. She positioned the other end between Bosk’s brawny buttocks.

Camilla Mamerca straddled Bosk’s head and pleasured herself with the projecting end of the dildo. He fought his restraints to no avail. 

“Like this, just like this?” Claudia Atella asked, obviously reviewing the procedure in her head. Her friends showered her with good natured advice and encouragements. 

“See, he really does move well in his chains,” Livia Alba said, as she took a turn on my tortured body. I was screaming now – mindlessly howling. I had no sympathy for Bosk or anyone else. Octavia Atella took her turn last, always a proper hostess, and her pleasure. She noted the blood dribbling out my rectum and running in a thin red trickle down my buttock and pooling on the table. She called to her dear friend, Palatina Alycia, kissed her fully on the lips and passed her the stool-soiled, bloody instrument back to Palatina Alycia.

Palatina Alycia took the dildo and walked to the other side of the table. I followed her with mad eyes. I screamed still. The young woman buckled on the harness and pointed the filthy device towards my yowling mouth.

Suddenly, I stropped screaming and clenched my mouth shut.

Palatina Alycia laughed. She grabbed my noise and held it shut. Unable to breath, I opened my mouth a crack to breath and that was all the room she needed. The filthy device lubricated with blood and feces slipped between my lips and into my mouth. 

Claudia Atella probed Bosk’s bottom with her phallus. She grasped his massive cock in her hand, unable to close her hand around its girth. “Damn! Where is your boy hole?” Finally, she found the proper angle and pressed into his core. 

Bosk bellowed his distress and pulled mightily against his bonds. Somehow, he lifted his head and chest. Somehow, he freed his right arm and leg. He kicked Claudia Atella and shoved her away. He flailed about wildly. Camilla Mamerca fell from her perch, laughing, and stepped away. 

The girl guards quickly beat him into submission.

The ladies moved on the other entertainments.

I was still trembling when I was returned to my crate. My cock had been banded. They left me gibbering on the floor, holding the filthy dildo between my bound wrists and my chest. My mouth stank from feces and my rectum burned. I was told to clean the dildo and myself and perhaps there still might still be time for food and sleep before my evening chores. My bleeding bottom left a bloody butt-print on the stone floor. 

“What happened to you, Warrior? Please tell us!” a slave cried in a hoarse whisper. “Did you get to fuck someone?”

I didn’t answer. I sat on the floor and clutched my knees, rocking back and forth. My mouth tasted of shit. Yes, I had fucked a woman or better, I had been thoroughly fucked. The incoherent babblings of an untrained kajirus were of little concern, even to himself.


	6. Juliana

I was crying softly in my crate when Juliana came to me. She tried to comfort me. She held me gently and told me quietly that she was Metia Palatina Juliana, the daughter of the Ubar. Appia Palatina Alycia was her second cousin. 

Juliana made a wry face. She was always getting in trouble and her father had sent her to serve in the Octavia kennels as punishment for her unseemly behavior. Soon, her father would forgive her and call her back to the palace – he always did. Then she soon would have the power to reward those whom she chose.

I had known of several Ubara of Cos by the name Juliana. I listened carefully, searching for some information that might support her tale. I had heard the other guards call her the Ubara too when she was not listening and sometimes to her face, when she had been thought less than diligent at some commonplace task or other.

She told me that she didn’t approve of the way I had been treated. She had feelings for me as any woman might have for a true man. She would help me escape and I would be free. We need only choose the proper time.

My hopeless resignation at my abject state dissolved like the morning mist before the noon sun. My gratitude welled up. She laughed gently when I covered her foot in kisses. Gradually, I worked my way up her calf and inner thigh. Her skin tasted of soap and cleanliness.

Her laughter stopped when my tongue reached the hidden place between her thighs. My ardor did not flag as I displayed the skill had had been taught. Breathless with pleasure, she slipped her hand between my mouth and her throbbing sex. For a brief ehn, I thought she was satiated, but then she stepped over my shoulder and directed me to her most secret opening. I gave her all the pleasure that I was able and she enjoyed me thoroughly. My cock throbbed painfully against its restricting band.

For several days and nights, nothing changed. Several days more passed and Juliana visited me in the the hours before dawn. She urged me to silence and quietly opened the door to my crate. She led and I followed, naked except for my collar, just as a well-trained kajirus might follow his mistress. Juliana looked furtively to the left and to the right. Seeing no one, she turned to me and whispered, “Tonight, tonight my love, I will take you to my room and tomorrow will be much different than today.” 

Once the door of her small room was closed behind me, I threw myself on the ground and covered Juliana’s feet again with kisses. “Ubara, my Ubara, my love,” I sighed with a passion and sincerity that surprised even myself. Soon, I would be free!

My ardent lips made her feet wet, cold, and uncomfortable. Chuckling, Juliana knelt and lifted my face between her hands. She looked into my eyes. “Warrior! Tonight, I would be your slave, your kajira!” She produced a key from somewhere and removed my collar.

I was dumb-founded. I climbed awkwardly to my feet. Juliana knelt at my feet. She stood gracefully and retrieved a graceful collar fit for a female slave from a small chest next to her bed. “Warrior! Make me your collared slave, I beg you.” Juliana knelt and bowed her head.

I held the collar for a long minute before collaring her with a practiced deftness I had never thought to exercise ever again. I was exuberant. “I make you my slave girl – my kajira.”

“What will you call your slave girl, Master?”

“Curiosity is unbecoming a kajira,” I warned severely, “but you are new to the collar. I will call you Ubara for as long as it pleases me.” I returned so easily to my usual male prerogatives. “I would see my new slave girl. Remove your garments.”

Juliana undid a single clasp and her gown fell gracefully to the floor. She wore nothing underneath. “May your graceless slave girl serve you wine, Master?”

She was stunning and not graceless at all. I nodded the affirmative eagerly and she lifted a plain pewter cup with rich red wine from the table. She held the cup in both hands and pressed it between her soft, round breasts. Her perky nipples came erect. She knelt gracefully and lifted the cup to me, her Master. I smiled and took it smoothly. I lifted it to my lips, long unused to such fine wine. The aroma was full and fragrant.

My slave girl stood so close. I inhaled her perfume too and beneath her perfume was the unmistakable scent of female lust. I gestured her to stand and I offered her a sip. I watched her luscious red lips close around the lip of the goblet. I lowered my head and licked her pert nipple. She trembled at the touch of my tongue. 

Tomorrow I will be free, I dreamed. Tonight, I shall take my slave girl as a man.

“How may your slave girl serve you, Master?” she asked coyly. My large hand covered the crown of her head and I pushed her to her knees. I felt her warm lips softly on my inner thigh. Her lips and mouth played skillfully on my circumcised sex. Her wicked tongue unfastened the band and freed my cock form its restraint. I simply could not restrain myself any longer. I lifted her from the ground and threw her back on the narrow bed. I pushed myself between her unresisting thighs and sheathed myself smoothly in her hot moist sex. My orgasm was intense, and hers followed, even more massive. Fully satiated, I rolled off of her. I’ll fuck her again when I wake, I promised myself before I fell asleep. 

I awoke groggy from my past night’s indulgence. I was alone on the narrow bed. My collar had been replaced and my cock was banded. My left ankle was chained to the bed.

My mind was empty. My fierce anger had flared at her betrayal and died. Like a conflagration that had consumed everything combustible in the forest, my fury had finally extinguished itself. Rage smoldered haplessly in the ashes. My mind was empty, dead. I did not resist when the girl guard led me stumbling back to the kennels.

“Looks like Metia Palatina Juliana has fucked you,” she related cheerfully. The girl’s perchant for mischief was well known.


	7. Gaia Octavia Atella

I sulked in my crate. I performed my chores with no energy and often felt the overseer’s whip. The pain reminded me at least that I was alive.

The several days later, I was groomed with unusual thoroughness. My body was waxed clean and the last hairs around my boy-hole plucked mercilessly. My cock was freed from its restraining band. My skin was coated with a pleasantly smelling unguent. My groom did not ignore my male apparatus. She enjoyed my body’s reaction but did not allow me release. The band was not replaced 

The girl guards conducted me to Octavia Iera’s outer chamber. I was left on my knees. I was not shackled. I looked about; the four walls were mirrored. After a time, Octavia Iera arrived with a single attendant, a free woman of lower rank. No woman was slave within the refuge, but many women served in the great houses. The day had been long and the Lady was tired. 

I knew what was required. I crawled to her and kissed her booted feet. She reached down and patted my head.

She urged me to my feet and I stood, my hands clasped behind my back. With a sigh that was almost an unladylike grunt, she collapsed into a chair before the mirror. “Help me with my boots, please.”

I undid the laces of both boots. I turned my back to her and took her right leg between my legs. I wrestled off her right boot while her fingers danced on my bare backside. The boot came free and I massaged her tired foot. The small bones cracked in my hands and a sigh of pleasure escaped her lips. I wrestled the boot from her left foot. Her mischievous fingers now explored the crack between my buttocks and the sensitive patch of skin between my boy-hole and my ball sac. My arousal was obvious but she ignored it and I attended to my task. 

“Brush my hair, please.” she said and handed me a brush with an ivory handle. She winced more than once when the brush caught on a tangle. I stopped but continued with her encouragement. Stroke followed stroke until her dark hair gleamed in the candlelight. She looked at herself in her mirror. “Enough!” I stopped.

She stood and looked to attendant, “Wine.” The girl handed her a cup and she took a deep draught. She took a second draught and looked at me with a mischievous sparkle in her dark brown eyes. She grabbed my ear and pulled my lips to hers. Our lips touched and I closed my eyes. It wasn’t a kiss exactly. She spit her mouthful of wine into my mouth. I gagged and choked. Some I tasted but more cascaded over my chin and chest. She laughed and pushed me away. She returned the cup to her attendant and tasted the wine on my chest. 

“Help me with my garments.”

I looked to her attendant. 

“You, Warrior. Not her. I would feel your hands upon my body.”

I hesitated. I had fucked her or rather she had fucked me. She had ridden my cock to orgasm and fucked my bleeding ass. Yet I was somehow reticent to place my hand on her body. 

“Warrior?” My distress made her smile. 

Tentatively, I lifted my hand and unfasten the brooch on her shoulder. Her gown slipped from her body, leaving her naked except for her small clothes. Her beauty left me breathless. I stood there stupidly.

“Pick up the gown and hang it in the armoire.” She spoke to me as one speaks to a child.

I knelt between her trim thighs. A strong hand on my head kept me at my task. Her body tasted from her day’s exertions. She ground her sex against my face and took a first orgasm. 

“Metia says you’re worth another ride,” she said when her breath had returned. Her father’s wrath had faded, as she had predicted, and Metia Palatina Juliana had returned to the palace. She was well known for her penchant for mischief. 

Octavia Iera ordered me to lie supine on a narrow cot at the foot of her high bed. I lay as directed. Neither my wrists nor ankles were restrained but she clipped a tether to my collar. 

She laid close beside me and toyed with my cock and balls. Even without her touch, my cock was rampant and dripping with pre-cum.

She straddled my thighs and I felt her wetness and her heat. She slipped me under her loin cloth and pressed me against her sopping sex. My thick cock split her engorged labia. 

A sigh escaped my lips. Out of old habit I raised my arms to steady her hips. She cautioned me with a look. My hands returned to my sides but I lifted my hips to press against her. She did not let me past her introitus but took her full pleasure. 

Any restraint overwhelmed, I finally ejaculated all over her hand.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste but then chuckled. She wiped her slimy hand on my chest and then had me lick it clean.

That night, I did not return to my crate in the kennel. She allowed me to sleep on the floor beside her bed. My collar was clipped to a stay set securely in the floor.

More days passed. Many days and nights I served my Lady, Gaia Octavia Atella in her bath or in her chamber. Twice I slept the night beside her in her high bed. Octavia Iera enjoyed her easy mastery of the outland male, me. I earned the jealousy of the other boys and the interest of the attendants and the girl guards.

That night, I slept on the floor beside her high bed. She had awakened to go about her duties. A trio of girl guards woke me to return me to the kennel. 

The dark-haired one toyed with my cock, filled with the vigor that morning brings to a healthy youth.

“Did the Lady forbid his use?” she asked, looking at her two comrades. She retrieved her cock ring from its chain around her neck and undid the drawstring of her trousers. She slipped the ring over my cock then pushed my balls though with two fingers. She sniffed her fingers and made a face. “Looks like sloppy seconds this morning.” She wet the palm of her hand with saliva then grasped my cock firmly. She swung her leg over and straddled me, pressing my traitorous member against her sex under her kilt. The shaft of my penis separated her labia. She rubbed my glans against her clitoris and slipped me inside. She groaned loud with pleasure. “Goddess! He’s fine.

Her two partners would not be denied their turns. “He dances well upon his back,” the taller one concluded. Though aroused, I could not ejaculate against the ring. I was still erect and in pain when I was led back down the hall to my crate in the slave kennel. 

Lucretius may have been the lady’s favorite but I basked in her favor. He looked at me with envy and hate. Octavia Iera well knew the adage that one should not dote on a single boy, lest he become complacent and she settle for mediocrity. The well-stocked Octavia kennels offered rich opportunities. She need not ever suffer chilled feet at night.


	8. A Birthday Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia Iera gives Warrior to her friend Camilla Mamerca

The Lady Marcia Camilla Mamerca loved birthdays – especially her own. She loved presents though she often tired of them quickly. Octavia Iera was such a dear friend, Camilla Mamerca thought as her borrowed sedan chair wove its way through the crowded streets of the Refuge. No ostentatious ornament marked Octavia Iera’s wealth and status, but her exalted rank was clearly evident to the discerning eye in the quality of her chair and the careful grooming of her bearers. Their feet were well tended, the unmistakable sign of a well-run household.

I found myself Octavia Iera’ birthday present for her dear friend. I wondered how I might have offended Octavia Iera but she was known for her love novelty. Octavia Iera and her expert kennel chief, Tullia, had devoted 6 full months to my training. Camilla Mamerca had known me from the day I was collared and marveled at my transformation from a sullen captive warrior to a consummate boy-toy.

Winter nights in Cos are cold and damp. Camilla Mamerca had long wanted a warm body to cuddle and keep her warm. 

She and Octavia Iera had had great fun with me. She chuckled still at Palatina Juliania’s prank. Palatina Juliana had allowed me to take her as a master takes his kajira. The idea was disgusting on the face of it, but perhaps delicious in a sort of shameful way

Camilla Mamerca had always wondered why Octavia Iera had never branded me herself. However, Octavia Iera had told her of the special bond between a boy and the woman who first brands him. She had never imagined that Octavia Iera planned to give me to her.

They restrained me securely so that Camilla Mamerca could brand me herself. I still had fantasized that the Wheel might turn and I might somehow control the women who owned me. I had not yet fully admitted to myself that I was fully subject to their desires and their whims.

My nose, nipples, navel, and sex all bore small rings. As a slave, I had already been circumcised. I had been completely depilated. When she saw me that night I was secured spread-eagle on a low table. 

Aroused, I was as hard as a rock and Camilla Mamerca couldn’t close her fist around my girth. That night, I was only soft and flaccid in her hand. She held me in one hand, the branding iron in the other, and studied my face. The brand “κ” was seared into my left thigh where the scar might be most easily accessible to her hand. Camilla Mamerca followed Tullia’s instructions and applied the brand firmly and even. Though I screamed in agony. her steady hand had not shaken. She really had planned to leave me intact.  
“The brand looks clean,” the kennel girl asked as she applied the ointment and prepared to release me, a newly branded kajirus. “This is your last chance.”

Octavia Iera just smiled. “He’s really yours to do with as you will. Happy birthday!”

I stared at Marcia Camilla Mamerca, apparently my new owner, my eyes wide with horror. A broad smile spread across Camilla Mamerca’s face. My muscles stood out in sharp outline as I strained against my bonds in vain. My fear seemed inconsistent with my strongly muscled body. 

Camilla Mamerca went over her decision in her mind once again. She had decided against it before and had really thought she was certain. The Lady Gaia Octavia Iera kept her males in a kennel, tended by kennel girls and overseen by a kennel mistress. Her palace supported a score of girl guards. She hadn’t planned to fuss with chains and guards in her more austere residence. She simply lacked the resources.

“Geld him,” she said. 

“Certain? Hard to put them back.” 

Camilla Mamerca nodded, yes. Octavia Iera and Camilla Mamerca left the chamber and let Marcella finish her work. Camilla tweaked her my nose as she passed. “See you later, Warrior,” she said cheerfully. Well, she had changed her mind.


	9. Marcia Camilla Mamerca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drusus finds a home

I walked naked at her side and drew stares also. A stout leash attached my sturdy collar to her chair. A thin gold ring pierced the glans of my penis. A thin gold chain attached the ring to an identical ring that pierced my belly button and lifted my thick sex, exposing my empty ball sac underneath. My large stature and blond hair and made me exceptional among the slight dark-haired people of Cos.

Winter nights in Cos are cold and damp. Camilla Mamerca had long wanted a warm body to cuddle and keep her warm. My mouth was redolent with the taste of her sex. I had learned to guess her activities from her taste. I could readily detect the spendings of the Lady Gaia Octavia Iera’s Lucretius from those of the Lady Gnaea Claudia Atella’s Marcus. 

She lay on her side, her soft breasts pressing through her lingerie against my broad back. She lay on her side, her soft breasts pressing through her lingerie against my broad back. Her belly pressed against my tight muscular ass. Playfully, she rubbed two fingers over my lips and gently pried my teeth apart. I did not resist when she wet her fingers in my mouth. 

Carefully, she placed her wet fingers precisely on the sensitive patch of skin between my ball sac and anus. She waited for me to relax again. She thrust one finger strongly up my backside. I moaned, but did not struggle. I knew thoroughly that I was owned. Would she try to penetrate me with Bosk's huge cock?

Other kajiri envied me a softhearted and indulgent mistress. Sometimes, she allowed me a rope belt and loin cloth that distinguished me from the completely naked more lowly slaves. I worried constantly about her tendency to tire quickly of her possessions. 

****

“He is cuddly and cute but not too bright,” Marcia Camilla Mamerca told her friend Opita Valeria Messalina. “He thought we had torn the giant cock from Bosk’s bleeding carcass! His balls, when he had them, climbed back up into his belly.” She could not help from laughing. Did Gaia give you a casting too?” 

Valerina Messalina shook her head, no

“He has learned his duties well,” Camilla Mamerca continued. “I have not many servants.” In fact, she only one woman and one girl served in her home but recently her fortunes had improved. “He has learned to cook and clean. In the laundry, he has been serviceable. Somehow, he has learned to attend to his own hygiene or my girl helps him.” She had no enthusiasm for plucking the last blond hairs around his asshole. “A needle and thread look silly in his large hands and his skills at sewing and mending are sadly lacking.” 

Valeria Messalina raised her eyebrow in a question. The male was blond-haired, a rarity in Cos. He was large and well-built. She saw a curious mark on his right shoulder. Was Marcia too lenient in her demands?

“No, rigorous whippings have not increased his skills and I have simply given up.” She shook her head doubtfully. She had little enthusiasm for beating him. She could best discipline him by denying him her attention. “He follows me around the city loyally and looks quite good, standing at my shoulder. None question my total mastery.” 

Warrior stood at her shoulder, naked except for his collar and piercings. He stood motionless with hands clasped behind his back. Camilla Mamerca stood behind her veils in her proper robes of concealment in the market outside of the Refuge and enjoyed the poorly-hidden discomfort of the male ship’s captains who saw the large, naked blond haired slave, standing behind her. His anxiety won her better contracts as most were eager to finish their business and escape her presence. 

His strong hands massage her tired feet. Camilla Mamerca spoke less of his skills in the bath. Her body thrilled at his gentle touch. His naughty fingers teased her breasts and sex as effectively as his wicked and always eager tongue. Drunk with pleasure, she would tease him in turn. His large hand cradled his head when he washed her hair. She always saw his smoldering desire for her in his eyes when he dried her with a warm, fluffy towel. 

****

Most nights, he slept upon a rug beside her bed, his collar tethered to a ring set solidly in the floor. On colder nights, he slept beside her. Relishing his warmth, her soft breasts pressed against his broad bare back through the thick wool of her nightgown. Her right hand outlined the mark on his right thigh that marked him indelibly as her property. Her fingers softly stroked the length of his silky sex and touched his well healed scar on his scrotum. He would sigh in his sleep and she cuddled with him yet closer. Sometimes, her body trembled in recollection of all the pleasure that he had given her and all the pleasure that she had taken from his body. She dreamed of all the pleasure he would give her in the future and all the pleasure that she would take from his body. She never spoke of it but often, when he slept, she placed a soft kiss on the back of his brawny neck and a small bite on his right shoulder just firmly enough to leave the mark of her teeth. 

A tall dark-haired man, Aram from Atergatis, strode down the gangplank from the sturdy merchant ship that had carried him to the bustling wharf of the storied city of Cos – the capital of the island nation of the same name. He searched the hectic scene for evidence of the fabled Free Women of Cos with the enthusiasm of a young man too long deprived of female companionship. Everyone knew the lusty tales and my vivid fantasies had long enlivened my dreams. Indulged beyond reason by their fathers, brothers, and free companions, the unbridled liberty of the Free Women of Cos was the pride of their men folk and a scandal for the rest of Gor. Their brazen licentiousness was said to surpass even that of the slatternly slave girls or kajira.

He saw a captain negotiating with a petite Free Woman, obviously of the merchant guild, and dressed most modestly in her white and gold robes of concealment. Master over winds and waves, the stammering Captain was obviously at sea, though his ship rested, tied up safely to the dock. The merchant’s eyes were green. He could not discern the color of her hair beneath her head covering. Behind the merchant stood her kajirus or male slave. He towered over her though none might doubt who commanded and who obeyed. His thick blond hair reached down to his bare buttocks in a long braid, neatly tied by a red ribbon. His lips and nipples were painted a brilliant red. His gold collar, earrings, and nipple rings flaunted the substantial wealth and good taste of his mistress. The slave’s naked body and loins were smoothly shaven. His heavy cock was blatantly exposed. His foreskin had been removed; its naked head rouged red to match his lips and nipples and pierced with a gold ring. That ring was linked to a second ring that pierced his navel and lifted his cock to expose his fat, shaven empty ball sac beneath. His head was bent and he stared down passively with no inclination to explore his surroundings. Curiosity was unbecoming of a kajirus, he’d been told. The naked slave’s near presence was most likely the source of the Captain’s obvious distress. The visitor snorted in disgust and would not call the slave a man despite the full public display of his undeniably male parts.


End file.
